Ante Meridiem

Every Friday at approximately six o' clock ante meridiem, a certain number of events take place at the crossroads of Sycamore Avenue and 21^st Street. The logy hot dog salesman emerges from the fog consuming Sycamore, setting up shop at the exact location he had been for the last seven years (right corner of Sycamore, left corner of 21^st). As he prepares for a monotonous day of work, the chain-guarded glass shop-fronts unravel, revealing scratched glass panes reflecting the burning orange sunrise. Dozens of pigeons already litter the crummy curbs as businessmen in infinite types of appropriate attire scurry by. Among these men who are all hustling to start the day is one who has no need to rush. He casually swaggers down 21^st from the parking garage on Laffel Street. At that parking garage, he parks his ninety-six thousand dollar convertible. This convertible takes him from his home fourteen miles away, where two maids and a cook are readying his two children for school. With an air of someone who has made it in life, he confidently yanks the door of his stock-broking company open. Three enormous yet carefully placed steps are all it takes to carry him from the threshold to the secretary's desk.

"Good morning Janice!"

"Good morning, Mr. Dugal. How is Mrs. Dugal?"

"Fine, fine, left for work a half an hour early, the saint."

As all of these events are taking place, however, another man is watching. From his third story apartment, this other man can see everything that unfolds at the intersection of Sycamore Avenue and 21^st Street. His bachelor pad, or rather bachelor hole, is littered with empty liquor bottles and charred cigarette butts; remnants of his younger life, carried over into his adult life. Every Friday morning, he watches Lawrence Dugal proudly walk from his convertible to his company building. Glaring on in jealousy, he says to the empty room, "It should be me. That ungrateful prick doesn't know what he's got, not like I do." This man, Grant Leary, has a greater understanding than he should of what Larry Dugal's life is like. He knows that Dugal's wife is pregnant again, and that his daughter lost her second tooth last week. He knows these things because every other Friday of the month at six o' clock, he slithers into the alley next to the Dugal-Witter building and listens to Dugal's conversation with his secretary, via a microphone planted below the secretary desk. How Leary managed this goes beyond the important events of this Friday morning.

Leary and Dugal once were on first name basis. Obviously, they aren't at the moment, but that will be explained shortly. They were two young men, chain smokers in college, attending Something-or-Other University. One studied economics, while the other studied literature. Two totally opposite ends of an enormous spectrum. They were the closest of friends. Long story short, boy (Leary) meets girl (Mrs. Dugal). Boy loves girl. Girl files restraining order after boy carves girl's name into left pectoral. Girl meets boy's best friend, Larry. Girl and Larry get married, while boy is left in a pool of self-pity and loathing for the happy couple. "Promise this won't let us grow apart, Grant", he had said.

These two men hadn't seen each other or corresponded for what seemed to both like an infinite amount of time. That Friday morning, however, Leary wouldn't take it anymore. As he watched his former companion live the perfect life, the jealousy overwhelmed him. Beneath the roots of his graying beard and unkempt grizzly hair, his face and scalp turned crimson with the rage of jealousy. Leary lunged for the door. Fiddling with the many locks he kept for privacy, he dashed out of the room and tripped on the first flight of steps. Flailing down in an unstoppable whirlwind of arms and legs, the only protection he had was the many layers of sweaters and t-shirts he wore. Plummeting towards the second floor window, knowing this might be the end, he thought of how long he had spent in agony over how his old friend had stolen the things he had wanted most. Suddenly he realized that he had been a fool, just as his back hit the window.

Mr. Dugal, sitting at his desk, called the secretary; "Janice, did you see a large man come tumbling out of a second story window across the street, or am I going insane?" Quickly dialing an ambulance, Dugal looked closer at the victim. He recognized him as the a he thought he would never see again. Dugal broke down into tears, mourning the loss of the man he had known for so long.

One week later, Grant Leary is surprised to hear that he has a visitor. Quietly and respectfully, Lawrence Dugal walks in, holding a pack of fresh cigarettes.